


We Know What We Are (but know not what we may be)

by snarry_splitpea, WaywardGraves



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alley Sex, M/M, Roleplay Logs, alley angst, dark!Original Graves, grindelwald follower graves, it's the two of us...what do you expect?, sadism/masochism overtones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 01:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11116659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarry_splitpea/pseuds/snarry_splitpea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardGraves/pseuds/WaywardGraves
Summary: Credence has failed to find the child and Mr. Graves is frustrated. What could possibly go wrong from that combination.





	We Know What We Are (but know not what we may be)

He'd grown agitated waiting for the boy. A discreet hand in his trouser pocket hiding a certain _condition_ below his belt. A tapping foot that only made him harder and more uncomfortable. He'd apparated here after an interrogation. His schedule had been tight for weeks. No room for more than exhausted, restless sleeps… and what a tease the day had been. A woman so plush and soft placed on the other side if the table. Eyes defiant as she denied obvious crimes. He'd wanted to punish her. Make her talk. Make her gag around his growing member… but she'd only spat in his face at the barely less than polite questioning of he and his partner. Yes, partner. The director was under investigation after complaints of assault… and they'd forced him to conduct rather fruitless interrogations with Tina Goldstein by his side.

  
He'd narrowly bitten back the urge to tie her down and make her watch how _real_ interrogations went.  
  
What a fucking joke. 

Credence hurries into the alley. He prays that Mr. Graves has been held over at work, for once. Ma made him stay in this morning to do the laundry since Chastity was sick, so he couldn't hand out his flyers until an hour later than usual. He got rid of them as fast as he could but he was still late. When he sees the man already waiting for him his heart drops. With his eyes downcast he moves to stand before the one person he’s ever admired, he only hopes Mr. Graves hasn't been waiting too long.

Percival shifts where he stands.  Shoes sliding across the pavement as he turns his hips to the side. He's never been entirely polite to Credence. Gruff man that he is. But he waits a moment before speaking. Reeling in the urge to immediately shout.  
  
"You're late," he whispers. Voice still sinister despite the low volume.

"I'm sorry Mr. Graves," Credence says, "Ma wouldn't let me leave. I came as fast as I could. 

"Excuses," Graves murmurs. "Another attack happened, recently. World news has picked up the story. My job's on the line and YOU bring me fucking excuses." He hadn't meant to step forward.  Hadn't meant to push Credence square in the chest... but he was so tired.  So easily wound up by every aggravation.

Credence stumbled back. Mr. Graves had never done that before. He's touched him— _oh how Credence longs for that touch_ — but he's never been violent, never been cruel. Years of living with Ma had developed natural instincts in the face of violent actions. His shoulder hunch to his ears and he keeps his eyes firmly fixed on his shoes.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Graves. It won't happen again. Please..." He stammers.

Graves steps forward.  Mouth poised to apologize. He sneers at the notion. "Results, Credence. Results are what I need. Have you watched for any new children?"

"Yes, Mr. Graves. Of course. But there's no one out of the ordinary. There was one boy, thought he had a witch's mark, but it wasn't. And there was no one else I haven't seen before. But I promise I'll keep looking sir. I promise." Credence says, hoping to placate the obvious anger exuding from the man. 

Percival grabs Credence by his collar, backing him into the nearest wall.  
  
"This. Can't. Wait." He insists. Unsure how to rush things along. Unsure how to find the child with no clues. "Who left their beds, Monday night? Who was exhausted all day, Tuesday?   Strip them all and check for scars if you have to.  They're _destroying_ our fucking city."  _Destroying my job._  

Credence shivers at the feeling of Mr. Graves' hands on his skin. He always feels a little hot when the man touches him but right now fear is most predominant emotion, coursing through his veins like ice.  
  
"No one, Mr. Graves. I swear." Those symptoms only applied to himself and he was no child. Simply tired from the eggshells he's walked on his entire life. "There's nothing out of the usual. Please, I'm trying." His voice cracks.

Graves stills. His anger had no outlet. The anger at his boss. His partner. The press. Even the anger he had toward the fucking lying bitch that still languished in custody, waiting on her lawyer to free her. 

But here.  
  
In this alley.  
  
Holding down a perpetually scarred body with not a soul in the world to care what had happened to it...  
  
Graves drew his free fist back, still clutching at Credence with his other hand, and he punches the boy in the stomach.  A heavy throw to the boy's gut.

Credence tries to double over, the only thing stopping him is the other hand still laced in his lapel. He dry heaves a few times before he tries to get his breathing under control. He knows what to do from Ma, but he never expected to have to use it with Mr. Graves. One hand grabs the man's wrist by his neck, the other hugs around his middle where he was struck. He can't stop the tears that have started to fall.  
  
_No, no, no_ this wasn't supposed to happen here. Not with Mr. Graves. The man is the one bright spot in his life. He can't lose what they have.  
  
"Sir, please. I'm doing all I can," he gets out through shuddering breaths. "If I knew any more about what I was looking for then I could do better. Please, I'm sorry. Is there anything else I can do? Please, sir, don't be mad at me." He just starts babbling. For once, he hopes the man will let go of him. 

Graves can't help but react to the unending string words. The same desperation in Credence's voice that he hears after long interrogations. The promises of a broken spirit.  
  
Music to his ears.  
  
"Shhh... quiet, boy," he whispers. The same hand that punched him sliding down his cheek, gently to wipe away tears. Credence clenches his jaw tight. He hopes the tender touch means the man isn't too upset anymore. He glances up and meets Mr. Graves' eyes.

Graves hips snap forward. His long-suffering erection staining his underwear with clear precum as he rubs them together. He licks the tears from Credence's other cheek. Tongue hot and huge on the boy's smooth jaw.  
  
"Your ma warned you about inverts? How we'll trap you in an alley, pull your pants down, and turn you into a sissy?"

Credence freezes. He had no idea Mr. Graves was, was one of them...was like _him_ . The idea of being naked in front of the man he had admired so much was arousing and terrifying at the same time. His mind goes blank and he can't think of what he wants. His head feels heavy and his body is alight with so much contact. He can feel himself getting hard.  
  
For months this is what he's dreamed of… but not like this. He can only manage a feeble nod to Mr. Graves' question.

Graves greedily snatches at them hem of Credence's shirt. Jerking the fabric out of his pants as the fingers on the boy's throat press down. Magic blooms between their bodies.  A spell to snatch the belt from Credence's waist. Another to jerk his pants and underwear down to his ankles.

  
Graves flips Credence's body to face the wall. Face pressed against concrete and the hand that had been at his throat holding a wrist to the small of Credence's back. He kicks his ankles apart and drags his hips back to bend his body. He doesn't have time to savor this.  His cock throbbing in near pain as magic frees him from his trousers. He grinds himself against Credence's ass. Cock moist and still dribbling. He smears his long unsated lust along the boy's cheeks.

 Credence whimpers at the sound of the belt and the tears are endless as he allows Mr. Graves to manhandle him and press him against the wall. When he feels something hard and wet press into his back his mind finally catches up to him.  
  
"Mr. Graves...what are you doing?" He asks, bringing his hands under him to try and push himself from the wall and turn back towards the man.

Graves steps forward.  Hips holding Credence still, too. The spells he knows for preparation whisper from his lips. Cleaning and lubing the virgin hole his entire being wants to ravage.  "I'm going to finally get something worth having, out of you. You useless little boy."  
  
He draws back, pulling Credence's hips with him.  It takes some maneuvering, but he forces the fevered head of his cock all the way in with one painful stroke. He groans. Cock caught up in a passage so tight it feels stuck. He struggles to move in either direction.

 Fight or flight. The feeling is not unfamiliar to Credence yet he never chooses either option. He always stays still and takes the belt across his hands, his back, sometimes even his face. But this… oh this is so much worse. He let's out a cry and starts bucking. Doing everything he can dislodge the penetrating length from inside him. It's too much too fast and he thinks he's going to die.

 

No.

 

Death would be preferable to the weight of the betrayal that's crushing him almost as much as Graves' hips are. He thrashes back and forth, doing everything in his power to get away. A litany of "no, no. Please sir. Please, stop. I'll do anything, please. God, please make him stop." Falls from trembling lips. 

Graves forces himself deeper.  Snorting and breathing heavily as he feels his cock gripped with breaking force. Even Credence's attempts to escape his length are intoxicating. The tiny jolts and yanking motions making him harder. He casts a spell on himself for longevity.  Distantly knowing he lacks the time while aching for this crushing sensation to last forever.  
  
"Fuck," he groans. "I could do this all day."  
  
Especially if the boy kept begging.  
  
Graves leaned into his next thrust. Pushing himself half in. He lets go of Credence's wrist.  Uses the free hand to jerk the boy's cock. 

Credence sags into the bricks in front of him at the touch to his cock. The pleasure mingling with the pain and he's not sure which way is up anymore. He's desperate for more, desperate for less. _Why was Mr. Graves doing this to him?_ Credence knows he hasn't had the easiest life but he's never questioned it, never complained. But _this_ , this torture at the hands of his savior. This just wasn't _fair_ . Half an hour ago he would've given this man everything. He feels the cock inside him start to move easier and he feels something running down his legs. He knows it has to be blood but he's too afraid to look, he shuts his eyes tight and tries to distance himself from the situation.  
  
Through tears he says, "Mr. Graves. Please, stop. Mr. Graves, why?"

The passage is more slick. His cock sliding in to hilt before he pulls back to thrust, again.  His fingers slide over Credence's cock. Marvelling at the precum the boy had managed to produce despite the pain. "Because I'm tired of being fucking nice to you. I should have done this the day we met. Showed you that your place is on the end of my cock. Forced you to work harder instead of buying you fucking lunch like a girl I'm courting.”

 Credence sobs harder. The worst thing is this is all he's wanted. He wants to be on the end of Mr. Graves' cock, he wants to be courted by the man. But he doesn’t want to be taken like this. He doesn't understand what he did to incite such anger in the man.  
  
"Mr. Graves, _please_. What more would you have me do? I'm sorry I can't find them but none of the children match your descriptions." He keens at a particularly hard thrust. He hates the way his body betrays him. He wishes his cock was soft, he wishes he wasn’t hard at the feeling of being used. He's wracked in full-body shivers and he feels the cold darkness that lurks beneath the surface starting to rise.

Percival's hands shift, again.  One pulling Credence's hair.  Yanking back until he can see the side of his victim's face as he thrusts.  The other slides up the boy's abdomen. Pinching his nipple. Rubbing and twisting the flesh there. "What you can do is take my cock like the little invert you are.  Put yourself to use like a good boy." He licks the side of Credence's mouth. "What you can do is bring me the children. One by one. I'll play nice..."

Credence groans, he feels like he's dying. His stomach rolls as Mr. Graves licks his face. He's terrified he's going to be sick and make the man even angrier but that's not his biggest fear at the moment. "Sir, please. Don't hurt them. Do what you want to me but don't hurt them."

Graves laughs in his ear. Lets his voice drop to a seductive murmur despite his panting.  "Don't worry, my dear. I won't touch anyone else, but you.  Not like this. This is ours."  
  
And it was true. Percival had read all the signs of Credence's crush. Had let his own attraction bloat and fester into this… moment. It had been so long since he'd truly fucked anyone as rough as he liked. So long since he'd felt himself quite so aroused and fulfilled. 

He'd want more.

The thought of more scared Credence but what could he do? He couldn't go to the police, what could a regular person do against Mr. Graves? He didn't even know how to find the wizard police but even if he did, Mr. Graves was their boss, they wouldn't help. He couldn't tell Ma, she'd blame him and make his injuries worse and tell him God was punishing his sinful nature. Every drag of the man's cock felt like a knife, yet every once in awhile something there would make his body feel alight and it almost felt good.  
  
Credence tries his best to be still. To let Mr. Graves fuck him as hard as it would take to get this over with. He tries to let his mind find purchase elsewhere. "How am-" he gasps, "How am I supposed to get them to you without Ma noticing."

“Shhh…” Graves murmurs as he clamps both hands around the boy's hips. Angling his cock _just so_ to finally bring himself off. No more steady staccato slaps against Credence's ass. He planted himself and quickly rubbed against the raw insides. Battering the bundle of nerves that likely made the whole experience difficult for the boy to completely hate.  
  
He wondered if this virgin might even cum from it, already picturing the slash of white on the wall in front of them and the sick victory he'd feel at the sight.

The change in angle made Credence's knees buckle. His cock bobbed against his stomach and he thought he was going to lose himself. He doesn't want to though, doesn't want to give Mr. Graves the satisfaction of knowing he got some sort of pleasure from this because he _hates_ it. He knows he hates it even though his body is telling him otherwise.  
  
His trembling had reached a peak and through his watery eyes he notices that it looks like the fabric of his coat is swirling, forming new patterns. He knows it's the darkness desperate to consume him. He never wanted Mr. Graves to know and hate him for it. He knows when it comes he blacks out, but he always feels stronger, more powerful after. It’s a terrifying feeling. Yet, now… the thought of using that power against Mr. Graves blooms something like hope in his chest.

Graves' hips draw out fully once and ram back in. His ejaculate flooding nerves that will only sting at the contact. He manages to pump his hips, again. Letting Credence's tightness squeeze out the last droplets, as his fist usually would. He doesn't look down as he pulls out, knowing what an awful mess he's made of the boy. Strong arms grip Credence's sides, turning him so they can finally face one another.  
  
Graves' eyes look hungry as he grips the boy's cock, again. Forces their mouths together whether Credence kisses back or not, his hand still pumping the length between them. The boy is too fucked out to do more than take it. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut as he feels lips move against his own slack jaw. His orgasm crashes over him, like it would when he's alone at night, but it's different. His body releases yet there's not much pleasure in it, more just a bodily function. There's relief but it's relief like going to the bathroom is a relief, and relief that the abuse is finally over for now.  
  
That's the thought, the idea if this happening again and again, that steels the hard knot in his stomach. He can't do it again, he won't. He can feel himself succumbing to the darkness and for once in his life he feels calm. He opens his eyes and watches the man in front of him with an expression of simple curiosity. He waits for Mr. Graves to meet his gaze.

Graves does look down, then. Casts his wandless spells for cleaning up the filth between them. Slides their clothing back into place. He even looks up, past Credence's eyes and waves a hand to smooth his hair back into its ridiculous bowl shape. As he works, he talks. "I can still take you out for lunch, as usual. I'd hate to leave you hungry and who knows how I might feel... after..." He finally meets the boys' eyes. Sated and remorseless grin on his face. 

Credence doesn't return the smile. Credence doesn't do much of anything aside from cock his head slightly as though he doesn't quite understand what the man is saying. He feels the hollow place in his chest that Mr. Graves usually fills with something akin to happiness fill up with the darkness instead and for once he welcomes it.

A wary pause.  
  
"Credence..." He starts.

"Yes, Mr. Graves?" The boy asks. His tone is light, probably lighter than he's ever used with present company, fear and awe and love no longer weighing him down. His face remains impassive and he may as well be a marble statue. A permanent fixture in the dirty alley.

The man's face falls.  Something is off… and he feels the urge to leave creeping up his spine. He backs away. Careful steps like when retreating from an animal… he doesn't know why.

Credence follows the man. "Mr. Graves, where are you going? I thought we were going to get lunch?" His tone stays light. His body moves not like the scared boy he's been his whole life, his hips sway and he moves like a walking temptation, stalking towards the retreating man. He feels the black presence more than ever before, but for the first time he’s aware of what’s happening and he relishes in it.

Graves carefully smiles to him.  Eyes not filling with his feigned pleasure.  Carefully, he turns his hand up, offering it to Credence as he usually does before they apparate. The boy takes it but before they leave he brings his other hand up, pushing back a few strands of hair that had fallen in the man's face during their… activities. He lets the hand trail down the cut jawbone and trace over his lips.

They don't leave.  Graves stares at his… partner.  It's as if the boy is possessed. Not the mental numbness he's used to from prisoners. Fully cognizant and fully changed. "Here's some money…” he murmurs with wary eyes locked in Credence's face as he digs out his wallet.  
  
"Just… buy what you like… I'll," Graves swallows. "Next week. I'll be back."

"Money…” Credence says, "that's what you give me? Money? After taking _everything_ from me, you give me _money_? Like a common street woman. That's all I am to you, isn't it Mr. Graves. I'm just your whore..."

Graves, the hothead, is suddenly indignant. He steps forward, clutching his wallet and crumpled bills. "It's better than what your mother gives you, you little twerp. You're NOT my whore, Credence. You're my property and honestly, I don't have to give you shit."

Finally, Credence smiles. His eyes hold pain and grief that he's lived with all his life. Mr. Graves is just another in a long string of disappointments, it really shouldn't come as a surprise. His lips turn up and his muscles strain after years of disuse. Credence reaches his hands up and fixes the man's suit where the collar was wrinkled and his tie where it was askew. Credence allows his hands to remain there as he steps forward, tucking his head  underneath the man's chin. Pressing flush to his chest.

Graves freezes.  
  
The pose is a facsimile of the love he used to feign for the boy. He feels guilt. Needling at him. Trying to overwrite his earlier pleasure. He fights it.  
  
"You never cared for me," he tells the boy. An arm curling around the small waist, just like it used to when they first met. "You never would have loved me once you knew me better."  
  
His other hand magics the wallet to his coat pocket and then he works his fingers along the back of the boy's neck. The same massage Credence had likely come to expect from all their interactions.

"Oh Mr. Graves, how can you say that?" Credence asked, his voice muffled in the man's shirt. "I loved you so much. I would have killed or died for you and been happy about it. I didn't think there was anything in the world to change how I felt." Tears had started sliding down his face, yet he remains calm and his voice doesn't waver. He relaxes into the touch. But his eyes just keep streaming like a faucet was turned on and left running. "You hurt me, Mr. Graves."

"No..." Graves' voice does waver then. Not from tears… or at least not yet. "No."  
  
His voice firms.  His face rubbing against the crown of Credence's head as his fingers tighten at the back of the boy's' neck. "I needed that, Credence. You don't know what need feels like. How it eats at you. How it can…” he swallowed. "How _you_ can bring out such behavior in men.  ...I couldn't stop myself. It's you who made me so hungry. Weeks of those looks. Weeks of holding you, like this. It was you..."

"Really?" He asks, "Me? You needed me _that_ much?” Credence pulls back slightly. Keeping his hands on the man's shoulder and bracing his forearms against his body. They're close enough to kiss but all Credence does is search his eyes, trying to gauge their sincerity.

Graves flicks his eyes away from the staring. He can't face this unnaturally confident creature. The fear still coils in his belly. Fear that he's broken something in the boy.  

Why the fuck did he care?  
  
"I… should go."

"No, no Mr. Graves." Credence says, gripping the man's wrist tight. "No, you're not going anywhere." He lets the darkness build in him slowly, invisibly twining around the two of them. Keeping Mr. Graves from disapperating.  
  
"You say I don't know need..." he begins softly, "I need every day of my life. I need food. I need shoes without holes. I need my mother to stop spilling my blood. I need you to hold me." The shivers have returned in full force, "I have needed you from the moment I met you, yet I never said anything. Nothing about how I felt; not the darkness, not my love, nothing. Because I knew you couldn't want a thing like me."  
  
His hands ball into fists in the man's clothing, "But then you go and do this… this… _thing_ to me. You tore me into ribbons, with something I would have given you willingly. Why would you do that?"

And the truth is… Graves needs those _ribbons_  ...those shreds. He needs to split bodies in half and wear their blood on his cock like a balm for some unnamed hunger. But he can't speak. Only listens in terror as this power encases them both. The tremble of Credence's body frightening.

Credence lets go of him and pushes him away sharply but he doesn't let his hold diminish. "Answer me!" His voice rising, the first time he has ever yelled in his life from something other than pain _(or perhaps a new founded pain that's worse than anything Ma could hope to do to him)_ , "WHY?"

 The shouting frightens Percival. Both present before him and supernatural in his mind as a lingering echo… Graves tells him of need.

“My boy, you don’t understand,” the older man begins, “The things I want, you couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like. I wake hard from dreams of pounding my fists into your flesh. Of marking you black and blue with bruises. I touch myself thinking of you running red with blood.”

Graves’ throat has started to close up but he can’t stop his confession falling from his lips. “I want to see your beautiful mouth wrapped around my cock and I want you to gag so hard you throw up at my feet. I want tears in your eyes, like some sort of haunting spectre. I want to break you down. Bring you to where you assume your limits lie... Then break you all over again.”

He'd always been a sadist, but Credence called that need from him like no other. And nothing else had felt _good_ since they met. Like something lived in Credence that begged him to cum inside. To feed it pain and anger and betrayal.  
  
Graves hadn't wanted to sob at the boy.  Hadn't wanted to look at the boy, again… but he did look. Looked  & saw that same tempting beauty.  
  
Graves groaned. "Even now, I want..."

"You want these things," Credence says, "I could've wanted them too. Mr. Graves I'm not a good person either, the things I dream, none of it is right." He feels his vision go hazy, like a white film clouded over his sight. He raises his hand, the one that still holds the power keeping Graves from running away and tosses him into the bricks behind him.  
  
Credence moves unnaturally fast to stand in front of him. "I would have given you my blood and my tears and my bruises and anything else you ever would have asked for." He isn't shouting anymore but his voice is still teeming with rage. "But you never _asked_ . You took and you took and I can't give when you take from me like that." He looks at the man, he tries to understand the feeling pumping through his body right now.  
  
After a moment's hesitation he crashes their lips together, not knowing what he was doing, but biting at Mr. Graves' mouth more than anything. "This is what you want?"

 Graves moans against him. The magic around them so dark. So like imminent death.  
  
A wizard.  
  
How had he never known?  
  
"Yes," Percival whispers. Waiting for the magic to finally snap him in half.

 Credence pulls back immediately. Dropping his hold on Mr. Graves. "You do want this, you want me...." Every sinful desire he's ever had the man returns in full force and it's like Revelation. It's unfortunate they aren't on the same page anymore.  
  
"But I don't think I want you Mr. Graves." Credence says, before allowing the darkness to take over. Graves is disoriented and shaken by the sudden lack of power. Shaken by the sudden reality of a boy that knows he's not a god. Just a hungry, weak man.  
  
"No," Graves whispers as he reaches toward Credence. "No, bring it back.  The… the spell?"  
  
Of course he wouldn't know an obscurus if it bit him in the ass. Not in a grown man's body. The tragedy of his discovery is lost on him.  
  
"Hurt me, kill me," Graves begs. "I deserve it."  
  
_Kiss me. Merlin, kiss me as you do it._

Credence looks down from inside the swirling mass. He's never felt so in control of it before, he was never even sure it wasn’t just some dream of being freedom and revenge. But now, watching the pitiful man that was his only love cry and beg for death… he feels no satisfaction. He doesn't want to kill him like this, no. Not yet, the man doesn't deserve that sort of death. Credence doesn't try to reform and instead takes off into the dusky sky. Allowing his obscurus to take him somewhere safe, the darkness being the only one he can trust from now on.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a translation from an rp we did. Snarry_Splitpea=Graves, WaywardGraves=Credence.


End file.
